Chương 167: Trading Nines For Sevens (07/07/2007)

DATE: Saturday, July 7, 2007 LOCATION: Big Sur, California | Coastal Cliffs LOCAL TIME: 05: 00 PM PDT I severed the connection to the Silver Chord at exactly 4: 00 PM. The silence was deafening, and then, slowly, it was replaced by the sound of the Pacific Ocean crashing against the jagged rocks of Big Sur. We kept it small. There were no press, no corporate photographers, and no security details visibly sweeping the perimeter.

Olga Nikolaeva walked down the short, grassy aisle on the arm of her older brother, Slava. Olga wore a simple, flawless white silk dress that caught the ocean breeze. She didn't look nervous. In the front row, Olga's mother, Zina, wiped away a tear, surrounded by her family. To my left, Steve Wozniak cheerfully tried to explain something to Jeff Bezos. John Patterson sat rigidly at the end of the second row, wearing a tailored black suit. On Olga's side, Joanne Rowling sat next to Olga's publisher.

A few seats back, Christopher Lee quietly exchanged anecdotes with Tom Hanks. But as Slava placed Olga's hand in mine and stepped back, all of it vanished from my periphery. Her hands were warm, and I held them gently. We didn't write grand, sweeping vows. We just spoke.

"You actually saw me," Olga said, her voice clear over the sound of the surf, her eyes locked on mine.

"Before all of this. You gave me space when I just needed to work, and you grounded me when things got crazy. I don't need the genius, Chad. I just need you."

"I'm here," I promised, and without the hum of the Chord in my temporal lobe, it was the truest thing I'd said in years.

"I have spent this entire life fixing things before they break. But you aren't a problem to solve, Olga. You're the foundation. The rest of the world can do whatever it wants, but I've got you." When I kissed her, the applause was genuine and warm. I looked over and saw Tom Hanks smiling broadly, Christopher Lee offering a dignified nod, and Wozniak giving me a subtle thumbs-up. I looked back to my wife. There was only the cliff, the ocean, and her.

DATE: Saturday, July 7, 2007 LOCATION: Big Sur, California | Coastal Cliffs - Reception LOCAL TIME: 06: 33 PM PDT The reception transitioned seamlessly from the cliffside ceremony to an expansive, open-air pavilion. I leaned against the polished teakwood of the open bar, a glass of sparkling water in hand. My mother, Sue, was laughing near the dance floor with Olga's mother, Zina, while my brothers—Chase, Nick, and Neil—were engaged in an animated debate with Steve Wozniak over the catering spread.

A few yards away, Tom Hanks and Christian Bale were arguing.

"Oh, come on, Christian," Hanks was saying, taking a slow sip of his bourbon.

"Don't give me the 'pure math' excuse. I did my own stunts." Bale let out a sharp laugh.

"Tom, you jumped on a floor piano and ate baby corn. The stunts in Shadow of the Bat were a lot more complicated than that. This is the reason why stuntmen exist. Bill Bixby had Lou Ferrigno and I had Chad." Bale groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, but he was smiling.

"Despite being younger than me, Chad was like a force of nature who treated the soundstage like a war zone."

"I was just trying to keep the stunt coordinator from losing his insurance," I replied flatly.

"See?" Hanks said, slapping Bale on the shoulder.

"Besides," I said, smiling a little.

"You always looked like you were trying to impress a casting director." Hanks laughed loudly, shaking his head. I took a slow sip of my sparkling water, looking between the two of them, and waved it off. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Look, you guys are giving me way too much credit," I said.

"You did the actual work. I just knew how to fall, stood in the back, and tried not to trip over the cables."

"Thank god for that," a deep, resonant voice boomed behind us. We turned to see Christopher Lee stepping up to the bar, holding a glass of red wine.

"Because capturing your actual life on film sounds utterly exhausting," Lee said, eyes twinkling with dry amusement.

"I'll leave the roof-jumping to Christian. I'm much happier standing on a fake pirate ship for your wife." Hanks and Bale both laughed, raising their glasses.

"To the Admiralty, then," Hanks toasted.

"And to the woman who wrote the fleet," Lee added. I tapped my glass against theirs. As the three actors naturally drifted into a conversation about the logistics of filming on water, I stepped away from the bar. Joanne Rowling stepped into my path, holding a flute of champagne.

"Chad," she said.

"Joanne. Glad you could make it."

"I wouldn't have missed it," she said. She looked out at the Pacific, then turned back to me.

"Though I wasn't entirely sure it was actually you until I saw you up there."

"It's been a while."

"It has," she agreed softly.

"I never saw you again after that day. I... I just wanted to say thank you."

"For the invite?"

"For the push," she corrected. She took a slow sip of her champagne.

"I was broke, Chad. Utterly lost. You sat down and basically told me to stop asking for permission. Pointed me toward Amazon and vanished." I looked across the pavilion. Olga caught my eye mid-laugh.

"I just pointed out a door, Joanne," I said softly, watching my wife.

"You're the one who actually walked through it." LOCAL TIME: 07: 15 PM PDT | Coastal Cliffs - Reception The reception was shifting gears. The Pacific sky had bruised into deep violet, and the jazz quartet transitioned into a slow ballad. I left the actors and authors to their respective empires and wove through the tables toward the dance floor. My sister, Amy, was standing near the edge of the pavilion, nursing a glass of wine and watching our brothers attempt to explain something to Wozniak.

I stepped up beside her and offered my hand. She smiled, looking a little tired but genuinely happy, and let me pull her onto the floor. For a minute, we just moved to the music.

"I miss Jason and Heather," Amy murmured, resting her head against my shoulder. The weight of their absence was a silent, shared gravity between us.

"Yeah," I said quietly, looking out at the dark ocean.

"Me too." I pulled back just enough to catch her eye, letting a faint smirk break through the solemnity.

"Besides," I added, dropping my voice a bit.

"They stole all the nines. I was stuck with sevens." Amy blinked, and then a startled laugh broke through. She shook her head.

"September 9th, 1999," she said, her smile widening.

"They really did grab the best date, didn't they?"

"Right? Nine, nine, ninety-nine. Perfect symmetry," I agreed, spinning her gently.

"But seven, seven, two-thousand and seven works. You take what you can get." She laughed again, a bright, authentic sound, and squeezed my hand.

"You're an idiot, Chad. But it's a good wedding."

"I had good material," I said, glancing over her shoulder to where Olga was laughing with her family.

"And I'm glad you're here, Ames."

"Wouldn't be anywhere else," she said softly, resting her head back on my shoulder as the song played out. DATE: Saturday, July 7, 2007 LOCATION: Big Sur, California | Coastal Cliffs - Reception LOCAL TIME: 07: 45 PM PDT I handed Amy a fresh glass of wine and leaned against the edge of the pavilion. I stepped a little closer to the music to hear the conversation unfolding between my wife and Jeff Bezos.

Jeff was spinning Olga through a surprisingly competent foxtrot, though mostly he was just trying to keep up with a bride entirely in her element.

"I saw the pre-order data for book five," Jeff said over the jazz quartet, looking genuinely impressed.

"Meridian is practically printing money for you. You've built an absolute empire. I'm just glad you didn't settle down with some college boyfriend and let it all go to waste." Olga laughed.

"Jeff," she said, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Chad was my college boyfriend." I watched Jeff's expression. It was a masterpiece of rapid, terrifying calculus. I saw his eyes widen infinitesimally as the realization hit him—Olga didn't know. Jeff's mouth opened, closed, and then he executed a violent conversational pivot.

"Right. Of course," Jeff recovered, his laugh sounding just a fraction higher than usual. He cleared his throat and patted her hand.

"Well, congratulations, Olga. Truly. He... uh... he seems like a very nice man."

"Oh, he seems like a nice man, does he, Jeff?" The voice cut through the foxtrot. My grandmother stepped onto the edge of the dance floor, holding a glass of champagne. She wore a tailored floral dress and an expression that meant she was about to dismantle someone for sport. Jeff froze mid-step.

"What are you talking about?" my grandmother laughed, shaking her head.

"A nice man? He's buying up Bear Stearns' garbage and terrifying half of Washington." She took a sip of her champagne and waved a hand at his sudden panic.

"By the way, Jeff, where's my hug?" Jeff, looking entirely outflanked, immediately abandoned the foxtrot to embrace her.

"It's wonderful to see you," he said smoothly, though his eyes darted toward me over her shoulder in a silent plea for extraction.

"Always great to see you, Jeff," Didi said, patting his back before pulling away to hold him at arm's length. Her eyes narrowed.

"You look too skinny." Before Jeff could defend himself, she leaned past him.

"MacKenzie!" Didi called out, zeroing in on Jeff's wife, who was approaching with a fond smile.

"Why aren't you feeding my boy?" MacKenzie paused, her eyes lighting up with immediate, traitorous amusement. She took a sip of her wine and offered a helpless shrug.

"I try, Didi, but he just works too much."

"Unacceptable," Didi declared. She linked her arm firmly through Jeff's and physically steered him toward the buffet tables.

"Come with me. You're eating a crab cake." I just raised my glass of sparkling water to him from the edge of the floor, offering a slight smirk. I wasn't going to save him.